


"H'Annibelle," and Other Misadventures in Laughing at Cannibals

by elevenpacesleft



Category: Hannibal (TV), My Name is Hannibal (2010)
Genre: Cooking, Crack, Drinking, Flaming Dr. Pepper, Fluff, Good natured teasing, Hannibal Buress - Freeform, Hannibal in a french maid's apron, Hannibal's name, Humor, M/M, My Name is Hannibal, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Sharing a laugh, Stand Up Comedy, Victrola trance, Will listened to some stand-up comedy, trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28552659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenpacesleft/pseuds/elevenpacesleft
Summary: Will spent the afternoon listening to stand-up comedy and stumbled upon Hannibal Buress's seminal masterpiece "My Name is Hannibal." He must try very hard not to laugh at the dangerous cannibal who shares the same name.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	"H'Annibelle," and Other Misadventures in Laughing at Cannibals

**Author's Note:**

> All quotes or paraphrases from "My Name is Hannibal," belong to Hannibal Buress, not me. I HIGHLY recommend listening to it. There at least two Hannibal Lector jokes. It's amazing. Enjoy this mess.

Ever since Hannibal returned from his marathon 2-hour grocery shopping trip, Will hadn’t been able to look at him. Will wasn’t angry or upset, that much he could tell. But something was wrong. It was almost like his precious mongoose was holding his breath. 

“Have I done something to offend you, Will?” Hannibal finally asked, slicing vegetables for dinner.

“What? No, no of course not,” Will said, not meeting his eyes. His mouth was puckered as if he were sucking on a lemon. “Unrelated, but how stocked is your liquor cabinet?”

“Well stocked, but what do you need exactly?”

“Amaretto, 151 proof rum, beer, and a lighter. Please and thank you.” Will was...giddy, Hannibal decided. It must be regarding the drink. Though it was unlike Will to make a cocktail, he was glad his lover was expanding his horizons, however odd those horizons might be.

“I have those,” Hannibal said. “It sounds very intriguing.”

“It’s called the “Flaming Dr. Pepper,” Will said.

“So it’s supposed to be reminiscent of the soft-drink?”

“Yes. But made of three different liquors, and fire,” Will said, wheezing ever-so-slightly with what Hannibal now realized was withheld laughter. Hannibal’s eyebrows knitted together. Beer was not liquor.

“Three different liquors and fire?”

Will closed his eyes to keep from breaking. He took a deep breath. “Three different liquors, and fire. Apparently, it tastes exactly like Dr. Pepper.”

“I wonder who figured that out.”

“Who’s to say? But he must be rich and divorced.”

Hannibal did not comment on that but continued his very confused prep-cooking. Will was busy referring to a printed recipe and making a “Flaming Dr. Pepper,” for each of them. Hannibal had never had a nonflammable Dr. Pepper so he didn’t have anything to compare it to. He’d try anything once, though. 

Will poured two half-pints of beer into glasses, then measured out two ¾ ounces of Amaretto into shot glasses, and floated the overproof rum on each of them. Then he lit the shot on fire.

“Here you are,” said Will, handing Hannibal the half-pint of beer. “Now drop the shot glass into this one, and drink it. Don’t sip, chug it.”

Hannibal did as he was told with only an eye roll in heaven’s direction to indicate moderate distaste.

It was surprisingly good.

“Wow,” Will laughed in earnest now. “That actually tastes exactly like Dr. Pepper! I expected to be disappointed but I’m not. Ha!” 

Meanwhile, the overproof rum had gone directly to the habitual wine-drinker’s head. 

“That’s strong,” said Hannibal. He shook his head vigorously, attempting to dislodge the sudden fog that was clouding his brain. “I’ve only ever used that rum to flambé.”

“It’s highly effective,” Will said, sitting back down at the kitchen island. “Do you need any help?”

“No, no. Just a glass of water.” After a cleansing gulp, he looked back up at Will. “Where did you learn about this?”

“When I finished grading today I had some free time, so I ended up listening to stand up comedy. Trying to counteract some of the bleaker aspects of my life. And I happened upon a set that mentioned the drink.”

“Is that why you’ve been holding in your laughter all day? You don’t have to do that on my account. I’m thrilled to find you so amused, given your disposition to melancholy. Perhaps we could listen to this together?”

“No!” said Will, too loudly. “I mean, no. No, you wouldn’t like it. It’s crass, and...ridiculous. I can’t imagine you enjoying it. Let’s listen to Scheherazade instead. I love Rimsky-Korsakov, what a talent.”

“You’re deflecting...”

“Me? Never. That has never happened. If you need me, I’ll be at the Victrola. Minding my own business.”

Hannibal had to work hard not to let his jaw drop in confusion at this strange behavior. But he was a patient man. If Will wanted to pretend to be interested in classical music: fine. He would figure it out eventually.

For now, he needed to finish cooking dinner. Just a simple little recipe: Medeterrian-style roasted vegetables and braised shoulder in a delicate broth, with pomegranate reduction. It would only take a couple of hours, and, Hannibal was sure, in that time Will would either confess or he’d figure it out.

Unfortunately for Hannibal, the time came and went and he was still none the wiser. He called Will to return from his fake Victrolla trace and sit down to eat (aka pay attention to him), but was immediately miffed rather than pleased by his appearance. The moment Will laid eyes on Hannibal, he let out a bark of laughter, then clapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide.

“Excuse me?” He had elicited many reactions in his life, but never that one. The cannibal’s confusion now bordered precariously on offense.

“I’m sorry. It’s not you. That smells amazing, you’re so good to me. Let’s enjoy this and forget that happened.”

“Don’t butter me up Will, save it for someone else.” Preferably for the “steak,” he planned on basting in ghee and rosemary tomorrow. 

“Look, Han-” Will stopped, collected himself, and said, “Look, babe. Um. How do I say this? The comedian I was listening to today, he has the same name as you.” Will paused, waiting for Hannibal to say something. He was silent. “And he just had some pretty hilarious observations on being named Hannibal. Several of which included...you.” 

Hannibal was gobsmacked. Him? Appear unwillingly in some bawdy pantomime? It simply could not be.

“What?” He managed to crack out.

“He also talked about the Flaming Dr. Pepper, which was SO hilarious, and saving your pickle juice,” Will said.

“Sound advice,” Hannibal interjected, absent-mindedly.

“And a great bit about pigeons. But that’s all irrelevant. I’m sorry for laughing. I wasn’t laughing at you, I just thought about something he said. Mostly because you’re wearing that apron.”

The apron in question was a gag-gift Will bought for Hannibal on a whim. It was in the French maid style but only tied around his waist. They both thought it was funny. Hannibal didn’t like being on only one side of the joke. 

“Why?” he asked, his voice betraying some apprehension. 

Will decided honesty was the best policy. “It was one of his jokes about his name.”

“Which was?”

“Regarding how he would make it sexier.”

“And he would achieve that how, exactly?”

“By putting an apostrophe after the ‘H.’ And changing the emphasis to the second ‘A’.”

“Say it, Will.”

“H’...Annibelle.”

Hannibal closed his eyes and turned his head. His lip gave an involuntary twitch. 

Then he laughed. A full, belly laugh the likes of which Will had never heard from him before. A laugh so out of character Will worried the use of “H’Annibelle,” may have sent him into a (different kind of) psychotic rage.

It was not the case. 

“I admit it’s not a very sexy name. Good try on his part.” Hannibal finally gasped out. “How do I come into play with all that?”

“There’s a bit where he’s flirting with a woman and she jokingly asks if he’s going to eat her. He says, “No, uh, maybe. Let’s get to know each other first.”” It was Hannibal’s turn to let out a bark of laughter.

“I have to listen to this. I have to. Where is it? Queue it up.”

And so the two cannibals spent an enjoyable evening listening to Hannibal Buress over dinner and tried not to spit expensive wine on each other. 

A few of Hannibal’s favorite parts included: 

The continuation of H’Annibelle: “Yeah, my name is H’Annibelle: Let’s go drink wine and look at ART.”

The conversation between Hannibal Buress and the person who kept asking obvious questions about his name: “Are you choking me right now? Yes, I’m choking you right now. Are you using your hands to apply force to my neck? Yes, I’m using my hands to apply force to your neck. Are you trying to stop the circulation of blood and oxygen to my brain so I pass out? Yes, I’m trying to stop the circulation of blood and oxygen to your brain, so you’ll pass out.”

And, perhaps not surprisingly, the bit about Hannibal Buress stockpiling apple juice and mistaking racism for jealously: “I was so caught up in the euphoria of having all that apple juice there, for like a minute I lived in his world where racism didn’t exist. I was like it’s obvious that this old man is just an apple juice hater.”

After a fashion, when they had laughed themselves into exhaustion and their faces and abdominal muscles were seized in pain, they crawled into bed, happy.

“I think Hannibal is a sexy name,” said Will drowsily.

“Thank you, Will. And thank you for tonight. I don’t often prioritize laughter. It felt good.”

“Let’s make it a regular thing. I think we take ourselves too seriously. Puns notwithstanding.”

“Puns are always an exception. Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight, Hannibal.”


End file.
